


We're the same

by Tory_Fleck13



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Blood Kink, Dark Romance, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dry Humping, F/M, I was about to tag ambiguos morality but uh... no, Joker is Joker, Knifeplay, Mentions of slight injury, Mild Smut, Murder Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Stalk Kink, Suicidal Tendencies, Unhealthy Relationships, You're damn sure what's wrong and you still do it, You're supposed to be a murderer, for real, i guess?, implied murders, reader is fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 16:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21211220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tory_Fleck13/pseuds/Tory_Fleck13
Summary: Your intentions with Arthur come to light after finding a corpse in his apartment, better yet, you discover that both of you are equally broken and damaged.





	We're the same

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've watched Joker for the fifth time and I seriously love that movie. Now, because of my Joker thirst, I decided to do this self indulgent dark fic at 4:13 a.m. Enjoy! 
> 
> I apologize if there are any grammatical errors. English is not my first language. However, feel free to correct me. ;)  
Thanks for reading!

* * *

You stay at the frame of the door, agape mouth and eyes that refuse to blink at the visceral display in front of you. The red spreads vastly, reaches pretty far, as if it wanted to stain you. The trembling of your hands inside your jacket pockets, reminds you the knife you’re carrying inside the left one.

_What the hell happened here?_

After a short contemplation, you finally move, carefully surrounding the dead body. The smell of fresh blood hits you with a knowledge that cuts your breath for a moment. _Concentrate, Y/N. You need to concentrate. _You bite your lip to stay quiet, but your right foot takes a wrong and noisy step. The creaking of the floor echoes in the supposed empty room. You freeze in anticipation.

Utter silence. No one comes out.

That’s when you realize the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

_Oh shit, shit. I need to-_

“_Y/N_”.

You can’t hold the gasp that comes from your dry mouth. As you turn your body to face him, you glance again at the sprawled man on the floor. Arthur undoubtedly notices the flinch you get from that.

“A- Arthur?”

No answer. So you resolve to look at him in the eye to find him dressed in full clown attire and makeup. A new image that is both, similar and different from his oldest appearance. The one he uses as Carnival. Now he may be wearing the same yellow vest but _that_ red suit is another different thing, and his noticeable, freshly dyed green hair looks _too good_ in the dim light of the living room lamp. Almost causes you to blush, mingles your insides in a way that you don't think is unpleasant. Your raspy throat is forced to swallow.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

It comes your turn to stay silent.

The air gets thicker as you keep staring at each other to deduce your intentions. Arthur’s eyes are darker, more dangerous and cautious. Something you recently discovered. You didn’t know this side of his, this hidden potential under the innocent façade. Your beating heart inside your ribcage lets you know that you definitely don’t hate it. Even if this isn’t what you planned at all.

“Y/N, are you going to answer _me_?”

He practically growls at you and _fuck, _it shouldn’t have the effect it has on your lower belly. The heat wave is expected.

This time you need to answer, you know _it_ just by the way Arthur’s threatening you with his blue sight. It seems that this side of him is demanding and impatient. He takes two large steps to close the distance until your chests are touching. That’s when you lost yourself in those eyes of his, shining and thrilling.

Somehow, they remind you of your own gaze in front of your bedroom’s mirror, right after your favorite knife is covered with blood. Blood that comes from your naive boyfriends who only thinks in fucking you and show off your pretty face to his male friends. You can’t help it. You have a thing for breaking people who thinks is right to mess with you. _Oh, but there’s no way that Arthur is that kind of people. _At least, you don’t think that. Not anymore. And that confuses you.

He’s not like them, but you still want to kill him. He’s so kind with you… _He must be lying about it, right?_ You should feel annoyed, but you aren’t. You should lie, but you don’t want to. He is gentle, but it is not certain that he will always be that way, he is a man after all. _And it’s been so long without killing someone… someone who deserves it. _

_Does Arthur really deserves it though?_ A mentally ill-man who only wants to make people laugh, a man who took care of his mother until the very end. _How annoying._

What are you supposed to do with the unexpected excitement?

“I… I came to see you.” You manage to answer as your impulsive arms wrap cautiously his slim waist.

Arthur raises his hand to cup your cheek, his grip rough but you don’t mind. You lick your lips and your eyes drops to his brilliant red ones. He starts to lean closer, the smell of soap and metallic paint fills your nose, and just when you think he’s about to kiss you… you feel a sharp pain through your left hand.

A slight panic invades you when you realize that Arthur is holding your knife. His cheeky smile enlarges when you remove your injured hand from his waist to see the blood that comes from your palm.

“Bad, _baaaaad _Y/N!” He scolds you in that playful voice of his and without a care, takes advantage of your commotion to corner you against the nearest wall.

The smell of blood becomes stronger and you don’t know if it’s only thanks to you. You should feel scared and your eyes must be showing something like it because Arthur begins to laugh without forcing himself not to. However, you have enough courage to try and explain yourself.

“Arthur, listen-“

“Call me Joker, _my darling_.”

The sore pain in your palm makes you gasp but you nod anyway.

“_Joker_”, you say with trembling voice, tasting his new name, enjoying the way he throws you an approving look.

Then again, the fact that you still feel aroused instead of frightened surprises you. You like this Arthur. No, you **love** it.

“That’s right, doll.” He hums and chuckles. “Now, care to explain why you came to see me with _this little toy_?” He adds, voice suddenly husky, warningly.

His slender fingers presents you the knife, it hangs right in front of your face, traces of your blood shines on the sharp tip. You open your mouth to say something, _anything_, but a high-pitched whine.

“_Oh?_ What was that, doll?” Joker asks you, furrowing his eyebrows in what it seems genuine surprise.

He doesn’t really understand your response. And truly, you don’t understand it either. But he keeps the knife in place and you think just how much that knife means to you, how intimate the general action is. No one has seen through you like this. No one has predicted your moves even if they’re clumsy and unprofessional. No one can actually think you’re dangerous thanks to your sweet appearance. Except for Arthur or Joker, or both. A new wave of pleasure fills your entire body and you find yourself telling him everything because you _want to_.

“I came here to _kill_ you.” Breathless, you take the knife from his hand and he allows it. “I came here… because I wanted to make you another one of my victims.” You moan slightly before continuing, his eyes jolts with a darkness that makes you feel comfortable, makes you feel _at home_. “Since I was a teen, I realized that I liked things that are supposed to be wrong. I don’t know… Maybe it’s the Gotham in me, rotten from the root. That’s what my parents used to say about me.”

The corner of Joker’s lip twitches at your confession, it makes you wonder if he's going to be the one to kill you instead. If you’re honest with yourself, you don’t care if he’s the one to finish you. _What a beautiful way to die. _On this stage, you’re drunk on the sensation of finally being seen. Something you never asked, but clearly wanted. 

“Do you still wanna kill me?” Joker speaks then, his mouth becomes a thin line.

You blink and before you can formulate, he pulls your hand with the knife to put it right on his throat.

“Do it.”

You exhale loudly and your grip on the knife tenses. You can see Arthur’s smile through Joker’s makeup and for a little second, you want to do it, but his eyes, his murky eyes stare at you like you are a lenient goddess. Of course he thinks of you in such a way. He has never been happy, he told you, he keeps telling you. He wants you to put an end to his misery. A misery that started with the only woman in his life. Everything makes sense. He isn’t like the rest of the scum that lives in the City.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He merely nods. The smile doesn’t disappear.

“Did you kill your mother?” You spit impatiently.

His makeup turns his smile impossibly bigger, his dimples are so clear. “I did.”

A natural relief floods over you.

“How funny,” you adopt one of his favorite quotes to understand it completely, the enjoyment of black humor hits you then and there. “I killed mine too.” 

Your hand releases the knife. The handgrip sounds against the ground. The time ticks faster, frenetic. He looks at you like you’re something to eat.

He’s quick to kick your favorite weapon out of the way, just to grab you by your hips and crash his predatory mouth against yours. The almost forgotten excitement of past emotions, revive with overwhelming force inside your groin.

You return the feverish kiss with a bite that makes Joker snarl, and he returns the bite whole-heartedly, takes control over your mouth and tongue. Arthur never kisses you like that. Your hands travels his green locks to pull them with unnecessary force. That triggers him enough to bite you over and over again. He doesn’t rest till he sees your bruised lip. He takes on the mere sight of your debauched mouth. And fuck _it, you want him._ You _want him_ so fucking much, but when you try to rub yourself against him, he pushes your body harder against the wall, holds your injured palm to keep you still. 

“Not yet, doll. Not yet.”

His breath hits your neck, and you yelp at the slight pain on your hand and the pleasing sensation. All combined. He stays there.

For a moment, you think he’s about to leave you panting.

“Joker, please…” You request without shame. Your thighs are jelly-like, you **need **any form of release. “Please, please, Joker… J…”

“Hmmm, you beg so beautifully, my darling.” He exclaims as he lifts your legs to encourage you to tangle them around his waist. Luckily, you catch the innuendo.

Precise hands travel under your pants and panties to grab your ass cheeks. Then again, he’s just teasing you, but that’s enough for now. You can feel he’s as hot as you.

“I already knew it.” He comments casually, his tone sounds calm and innocent again. “What you are, what you wanted from me. I found your murder pictures.”

Shock and shame blocks you all at once. You look at him, searching for a sign of joke, but he’s as serious as his groin is by starting to rub right on your center, stimulating enough to make you whimper. Those pictures are well hidden in your apartment. The reason he knows them is clear. _He likes me that much?_

“You stalked me…” It’s not a question, but he answers you all the same.

“I did it since the first time we met.” He keeps moving, a bit faster, and a bit harder. “I followed you home.” Your clit aches with that revelation.

You’re getting close.

_He really likes me that much._

“Hmm, Arthur!” Your voice breaks as he buries his fingers on your butt, still moving.

You can hear his low moans and your forehead rests on his while you feel the upsurge of your orgasm, so pathetic and fast for a banal dry humping. Happiness never seemed so possible, so real. You, hugging someone as sick as you. As broken as you. You clinch to the fabric of his sack as you start to cum messily inside your pants, small but comforting waves of pleasure. Your lips chants both of his names. He doesn’t complain.

He ceases the movements, but his erection stays prominent.

You make a move to touch him, and he slaps your hand in refuse.

“What did I just told you, doll?” He objects.

“I’m sorry, J.” You make a mental note about the way his eyes shine when you shorten his name. “I just want to make you feel good…” You say, still in a bliss from your orgasm. 

“Later, darling. Today I have the Murray’s Franklin show. Do you remember?”

You nod as you support your hands on his shoulder. The sleep is starting to take you. “That’s why you’re dressed like this.”

“That’s my smart girl. So good.” He purrs and kisses your forehead. “So good that I’ll have to force myself to forgive her just for ruining my makeup.”

You giggle proudly, caressing the bites on your lip and the traces of red, white and blue on your face and neck.

_Madness feels so nice. _

“Now, I’ll treat your hand and you’re going to be a good doll. ‘kay?”

You sigh in contempt, peppering kisses in his neck, humming in approval. 

“Such a good _kitten_.”

He does as he promises, his behavior is more like Arthur again, but this time it doesn't bother you, nor does it incite you to anything else than the desire to kiss him. You even offer to do his makeup but he says he’s fine, that you need to rest. Your heart flutters indescribably. The feeling is anew, yet makes you fly like crazy over the moon.

_That’s life_ sounds in the background with a beautiful pacing, it gives you security. Is this how you feel the freedom to be yourself with someone else?

“Be sure to watch me tonight, darling.”

You leave your mind to smile at your boyfriend.

“I will, J. Meanwhile, I’ll clean the mess at the entrance, if that’s ok.”

He leans to kiss you goodbye.

“Of course that’s okay, doll. I trust you.” He adds as he takes your hands with his to make you dance together across the living room.

* * *

_“…and as funny as it may seem_

_Some people get their kicks_

_Stompin' on a dream_

_But I don't let it, let it get me down_

_'Cause this fine old world it keeps spinnin' around.”_

* * *

He twirls you a couple of times till the songs ends with both of you, smiling at each other in understandment. He leaves after that, but not before pretending to slip with Randall's dried blood. He does it just to put a smile on your face.

You genuinely laugh and feel like you just found the love of your life, the right place to be. It makes you realize that you won’t allow anyone to take it away from you. That's why you decide to get down to work and clean up evidence. It’s not the first time you do this, of course. But cleaning up your boyfriend's mess is surely a new experience, as new as having a serious relationship.

You toss a pair of towels over the guy’s face, sighing annoyingly, without empathy. You’re sure there’s a good reason for his death.

“Poor bastard.” You express with irony. “But what can I say? You get what you fucking deserve.”


End file.
